Clove's Story
by hanvsfield
Summary: Ever thought of what The Hunger Games would be like if it was told by a different character's point of view? Here's your answer. This is a story all about Clove before she was reaped into the Hunger Games. Don't worry, there will be some Hunger Games action too.


Clove's Story

I woke up one dreary morning to the sound of birds outside my window. I groan. Recklessly, I shove a pillow over my head and try to get some more sleep. Before I could even close my eyes, my little sister Amber barges into my room, She jumps onto my bed and shakes my shoulders. "Clove, get up!" I groan once more. I remove the pillow from my face and sit up.

"What do you want Amber?" I asked her, rubbing my eyes to remove the crust that was caught in between my nose and the corner of my eyes.

"You promised today that you would show me how to throw knives!" she exclaimed and bounced up and down on my bed.

I looked into my sister's crimson brown eyes. I worked my way down her jet black hair, identical to mine. Then my gaze blazed down to her legs, slender and small. My sister was only thirteen. She was probably the smallest sized in her grade. Though, she was pretty tall. Almost, as tall as me, and I'm sixteen.

Amber was telling the truth. Yesterday, before bed, I promised her that I would show her the proper way to throw knives. I only promised because she kept begging and wouldn't leave me alone until she got the answer she was pleading for.

Normally, on my days off of school I practice throwing knives against the big oak tree in our backyard. I frequently practice for about an hour then come outside a few hours later and practice for another hour once more.

My parents gave me a knife set for my fourteenth birthday and used them, each an every knife, whenever I can. They discovered this talent in me when I accidentally sunk a knife into the wall in the kitchen one day when I was twelve. The knife landed perfectly into a painting that I did in kindergarten. Ever since then I've devoted my time into the sport of knife throwing, and I've become quite good at it. I rarely ever miss the target.

My sister on the other hand does archery. She has a bow and everything and normally shoots down at the archery range near our school. She isn't the best but she's improving. Amber watched me throw knives one day into the tree in our backyard and was estonished by how well I did. Now every day for a week she's been pleading for me to show her how to throw. So far I've said,'No,' due to precautions and the dangers of hurting herself. But finally, yesterday I agreed to instruct her.

"Come on , Clove!" she shouted. I put my index finger up to my lips. I pushed the covers off my body and leaped off the bed.

"Get dressed and then I'll take you outside," I told her, and she practically ran into her room which was down the hall from mine. I went over to my dresser and pulled out a black T-shirt, denim blue jeans, my brown leather jacket, and a pair of sneakers that were worn out. I walked over to the mirror hanging on the wall next to my bed. I grabbed my brush and through my hair a couple of times. I tied my hair into a ponytail and I leaned underneath my bed to grab my knife collection that was stored in a rusty tool box. I held the tool box in my grasp and went outside.

I found Amber leaning against the oak tree minutes later. "Ready?" I asked her. She nodded. I set the tool box full of knives and opened it cautiously. Amber's eyes bulged out of their sockets.

"Where did you get all of those knives?" she asked, breathtaken. I pulled one out.

"Mom and dad gave them to me," I answered and motioned for her to move out of the way. Pulling out a small paper target and a nail, I tacked them on the tree.

"Ok, first you stand with one leg in front of the other," I began, I did the steps to demonstrate. "Grasp a knife, and aim at your target. In this case, the red area on the target. Then simply just throw the knife. Not too hard, and not too soft." She nodded. I tossed the knife and it sunk right into the target. Amber clapped. I bowed and laughed. "Now you try."

"I don't know," she hesitated. "It's kind of scary. What if I cut myself on accident? Or what if the knife goes flying into the neighbors yard?" I put one arm on Amber's shoulder.

"Don't worry, it's going to be alright. Just relax. You'll be fine," I assured her. She bobbed her head up and down. "Good, now, do exactly what I said."

Amber put one leg in front of the other. She took a deep breath and threw the knife against the tre. It stuck right underneath the plate. She sighed. "Close! Don't worry, it takes practice." Amber sighed once again.

"Will I ever make it?" she asked, and fell to the ground. I giggled. "Oh, of course you will. It just takes a bunch of practice, like I said. Come on, get up. Try again," I said. She shook her head.

"I'm hopeless."

"How are you hopeless? You only tried once!"

"Fine." Amber stood up, grabbed a knife from the toolbox and threw it almost as hard as she could against the tree. And guess what? She hit the target.

"Yes!" she exclaimed, and danced in a circle. "Woohoo!" I rolled my eyes.

"You got lucky, that won't happen every time. You have to keep practicing. Come on, throw a couple more," I instructed, she grabbed two more knives.

For the next hour, Amber and I took turns sinking knives into the tree. So far, Amber hit the target two more times. This time she didn't get discouraged after she missed the target. When I was her age, I never did. It only made me mad so I would practice more. Two minutes later, just about when Amber was going to throw the knife into the tree, our mother came outside.

"What on earth, Amber, do you think you're doing?" mother asked, in a bewildered tone. She seemed mad, real mad.

"Clove was teaching me how to throw knives," Amber answered, with a smile. She sat the knife into the box and closed it.

"Since when do you throw knives?"

"Today, like I said, Clove was showing me how to," she pointed to me. I blushed. I knew this wasn't going to end well. Mother put her hands on her hips.

"Don't you think you should've asked for my permission first? Don't you think you could've prevented your sister from danger by asking for my permission?" she questioned. Amber and I exchanged glances.

"I automatically thought it was ok with you. Since one of us knows how to throw knives, why can't the other?"

"I just want to know the two of you were safe. Come inside, it's time for breakfast," mother said, and scurried back into the house.

Breakfast was completely silent. No one spoke a word. All you could hear were the breaths of each other and the birds chirping outside.

"How long were you girls throwing knives before I interrupted?" mother asked, breaking the silence between us. I shrugged and exchanged another glance with Amber.

"About an hour," I answered and stabbed into my scrambled eggs with my fork.

"Amber, I don't want you throwing knives anymore," mother retorted, setting her silverware on top of her empty plate.

"But, why not?" she complained, she smiled turned into a pout. "I just started!" Mother took in a deep breath.

"I don't want you starting another activity. You will focus on archery, and archery only. Speaking of which, you have an archery class that starts in ten minutes at the archery range. Go get your bow and quiver," mother said, and took both Amber's plate and her own.

"Can I come?" I asked, and looked down at my half eaten plate of toast, scrambled eggs, and bacon. Mother shook her head vigorously and sat the dishes in the sink.

"Don't you have homework?" she asked back, and raised her right eyebrow above her left.

"No, not before a reaping," I answered, and handed her my plate.

Every year the Capitol, our government, reaps one boy and one girl to compete in a barbaric event known as the Hunger Games. In this event, the "fortunate" boy and girl will fight to their death, and whoever wins gets to live in fortune and riches. The other twenty three, two from each district ,minus the one that wins, aren't so lucky. Some are slaughtered, and some starve to death.

None of my family members have gotten picked yet. We are fortunate, others are not. I don't plan on getting picked, neither does my sister. Her name is only in the bowl once. Mine is in twenty four times. But out of all the children and teenagers in District Two, I'm least likely to get picked. We could put my name in the bowl for extra food, but our family isn't suffering yet.

"I prefer if you stay here. Your sister doesn't need any distractions at her practice," mother told me. Distractions? Aren't the other kids distractions enough?

"Fine," I murmured and climbed the stairs back upstairs. I found my toolbox sitting on my. I slipped off my sneakers and jumped onto my bed. I opened the toolbox, grasping one knife that seemed the least bit sharp. It must have been the one that Amber used. I pulled out another knife and rubbed the blades together until both of them became sharp. I blew against the blade. I closed the box. Another sigh exited out of my mouth.

Amber's class lasts for exactly one hour. That means I have one hour to do whatever I please.

I couldn't help but think about the reaping today. What if I get picked? What if I die in the arena? What will my family do without me? What will Amber do without me? All these thoughts overwhelmed me. I flopped back and stared at the ceiling. The thought of going into the games scared me. But I don't know for sure if I'm going in this year.


End file.
